


Yule in Four Parts

by clgfanfic



Category: War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-12-03 04:13:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first Christmas at the Cottage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yule in Four Parts

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Imagine That #1, Brenda Cunningham editor, then reprinted in Green Floating Weirdness #20 under the pen name Gillian Holt.

_"…This is sort of need to know, okay?"_

 

**23 December 1988**

# The Cottage

 

Lieutenant Colonel Paul Ironhorse quickly closed the front door to the Cottage, shutting out the cold draft that determinedly dogged his heels.  The ring of his boots sounded sharply in the quiet house, louder than he remembered as he listened to the sound chasing ahead of him down the hall.  Why would the absence of the Cottage's current residents intensify an echo?  He dismissed the notion as illogical and proceeded down the tiled hallway to the living room.

With none of the civilians staying at the safe house for the holidays, no tree had been purchased.  In fact, nothing except the small nativity scene Mrs. Pennyworth had set out on the fireplace mantle marked the season in the large house.

The colonel headed for the hearth and quickly built the dying fire back into a snapping blaze that did little to ward off the deeper chill the soldier felt.  He glanced around the empty room, wondering where Mr. Kensington had disappeared to.  A quiet shuffle announced the retired major had been in the kitchen.

"Ah, there you are, Colonel," Tom Kensington said, carrying in a tray with coffee cups and warm gingerbread cake Mrs. Pennyworth had left for them.  "I thought you might like a little snack before bed."

Ironhorse smiled and accepted a helping of the pastry, saying, "Mrs. Pennyworth's cooking certainly has spoiled me when it comes to food.  The Officers' Mess isn't going to look the same after this assignment."

The older man chuckled.  "I know what you mean, Colonel.  Even Ella didn't have this kind of flair in the kitchen."

The pair sat in companionable silence for several minutes, both munching on the gingerbread, before Mr. Kensington cleared his throat and cocked his head, asking, "So, Colonel, are you heading out tomorrow?"

"For?"

"Christmas," was the immediate reply.  Kensington grinned, somewhat sadly, then finished off his coffee.  "Tomorrow's Christmas Eve… with Ella gone and no kids, it was kind of lonely until the group of us from the Post started getting together for the holidays. We sit around and revel in lies about our youth, but it's family, if you know what I mean."

Ironhorse nodded.  He'd spent his last eight Christmases with the men of Delta Force, the last two with Delta Squad.

He shook off another chill.  Those men wouldn't be celebrating any more holidays, thanks to the aliens… and his mistakes.

"Will you be going to the base?" Kensignton pursued – he wouldn't feel right about going off and leaving the colonel alone.

"No," Ironhorse explained, catching the older man's concern, "I'll be staying here… for security reasons."

The older man's eyebrows rose suspiciously.  "I see.  Do you have family, Colonel?" he asked, noting the flicker of something – pain, or maybe regret, that passed over the colonel's face.

"No," was the simple reply.

"Sad," Kensington clucked to himself, wondering about the truth of the claim.  "A man your age should have a wife, children.  But I know the Army can be a jealous mistress."

Ironhorse smiled at the metaphor.  "I suppose she can."  He stood, picking up the empty plate and his cup.  "If you'll excuse me, I'll be turning in.  If I miss you in the morning, Merry Christmas, Mr. Kensington."

"Merry Christmas, Colonel," the older man replied, watching Ironhorse leave and wondering if the civilians knew the colonel would be spending the holiday alone.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**24 December 1988**

**Washington DC**

 

"Oh, mom, it's perfect!" Debi enthused, holding up the black sweater with swirls of neon colors that ran together in the most unaesthetic way Suzanne could imagine.

The microbiologist smiled at her daughter.  "I'm glad you like it, Chicken.  I'm sure Norton will be glad he guessed right."

"He's _so_ cool," Debi said, as if that explained everything.

General Henry J. Wilson and his wife, Nancy, sat across from the pair on the couch and watched them with smiles.  Wilson, the Blackwood Project's liaison with the President, was also Suzanne's uncle, and he'd invited the woman and her daughter to spend the holidays with them in Virginia.  He smiled and patted Nan's arm.  It was nice to have children in the house for Christmas again.  The older woman smiled back at her husband, then squeezed his hand.

Debi turned large blue eyes on her mother.  "Can I call Norton and tell him thank you?"

Suzanne looked dubious.  "I don't know, it's Christmas Eve.  We don't know what he might be doing."

"Please?" the twelve-year-old pleaded.

Suzanne thought for a moment.  After six months, it was clear that Debi had adopted everyone at the Cottage as members of her surrogate family.  And of all the residents, it was Debi who had expressed doubts about them all going off in different directions for the holidays.  If Suzanne hadn't thought that the girl needed some time in the "real world," they probably would have stayed at the Cottage themselves.

She sighed.  Norton had gone home to Jamaica, and Debi was intensely curious about what that was like.

"Well, I guess it would be okay, but I don't have the number—"

"Harrison would!" Debi exploded happily before Suzanne could finish.

General Wilson cleared his throat and pushed himself off the couch.  "I'm sure I have Mr. Drake's number, somewhere," he said, trying to suppress a smile.

"Can we call Harrison, too?" the girl asked innocently.

Suzanne shook her head.  If she let Debi get started, she'd be on the phone the rest of the night, talking to everyone a twelve-year-old mind could think of.  "I don't think it would be very nice of us to run up Uncle Hank and Aunt Nan's phone bill like that."

Nancy smiled at Suzanne and winked.

Debi pouted for a moment, then nodded.  "Okay, but can we conference call so we can talk to Harrison and Norton?  That way it's just one call."

"Conference…?"  Suzanne trailed off, her head shaking.  How did kids do it?  "I suppose—"

"Where did Colonel Ironhorse go?" the girl interrupted.  "We can call him, too!"

General Wilson, walking back into the living room, caught the question and realized that he hadn't received any travel plans from the officer.

"I don't know, Chicken," Suzanne said, frowning slightly.  Had anyone bothered to ask?  "It must've been 'need to know,'" she concluded, feeling slightly guilty and not really understanding why.

Debi didn't look pleased with the answer either, but when Wilson handed over the numbers her excitement returned.  "Can I do it?"

"You know how?" the general asked.

Debi nodded.  "Norton showed me."

Suzanne caught her uncle's smile and shook her head.  "I'm going to have to have a talk with that man when we get back.  He's corrupting my daughter."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**24 December**

**Jamaica**

 

Norton ducked to avoid being the latest victim of the flying mistletoe.  He chuckled as several of his nieces and nephews rushed by, fighting over the various gingerbread cookies on the plate they were communally carrying.  The hacker wondered if they were actually going to make it into the living room without spilling the entire collection across the floor.

He sighed happily.  It was good to be home.

In the kitchen his mother and sisters were preparing a huge dinner, while his brothers were in the living room, running roughshod over the kids and trying to keep them out of the way until the food was ready – an impossible task.  Norton had been rolling between the two groups, getting caught up on all the news and generally basking in the love and community of his large, extended family.

The jangle of the phone cut through the din and he pushed Gertrude over to the instrument and picked it up.  "Drake house, Merry Christmas!" he boomed.

"Merry Christmas, Norton!"

"Debi?" he questioned the receiver.

"Yeah!  I just wanted to say thank you for the great sweater.  It was the present I opened tonight."

Norton smiled and reached out a free hand to slow down Carl, his sister's two-year-old, who was beginning to tilt dangerously forward as he scampered along behind his older cousins.  Righting the child, whose feet continued running even when he was off the floor, Norton released him to continue on his tottering gallop.

"Well, you're welcome, Debi, but you'll have to thank the Colonel for that one.  He mentioned that you'd liked that particular sweater when we were out shopping."

"Oh," Debi said, her disappointment clear, although Norton wasn't sure why.

"So, how's Washington DC?"

"Cold," Suzanne said, "but it's nice to have a white Christmas for a change."

"Yeah!  Mom and me made a big snow woman," Debi cut in.  "And I even beat Uncle Hank in a snowball fight!"

Norton snickered under his breath.

"Merry Christmas, Norton," Suzanne said.  "Tell your family the same.  How's Jamaica?"

"Nice.  Sunny, but it's not hot.  And I'll pass along the greetings to my mom, and the same to you and Uncle General Hank," he replied, waving that he'd be in to join the rest of his clan at the table in a minute.

"I'll do that," Suzanne said, accepting a cup of warm spice wine from Nancy.

"Hey, what about me?" Harrison's voice cut in, trying to sound hurt. 

"Doc?" Norton asked.  "Hey, cool, a Christmas conference call!  Great idea!"

In the background Drake could hear Harrison telling Sylvia who was on the phone.  "It was Debi's idea," Harrison informed Norton.

"Good idea, Deb!" Norton said.  "How's Sylvia?"

"She's doing fine.  We're going out for supper in a few minutes.  She says to tell you all Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," Norton, Suzanne and Debi chorused.

"Do you know where the Colonel is?" Debi asked the two men.

"Uh, I don't, no," Norton said.  "I don't think I asked…"  He trailed off.  "I was so busy making sure I'd gotten gifts for all the nieces and nephews, I guess I forgot."

"I didn't ask either," Blackwood admitted, sounding guilty.  "I was so anxious to get away from the Cottage for a few days I didn't think to ask."

"Me, too," Suzanne murmured. 

There was a moment of silence as the three adults considered the fact that they didn't know where their full-time protector was spending his Christmas Eve.

"Look," Suzanne finally said, "we'd better let you all go back to whatever you were doing.  We'll see you back at the Cottage on the twenty-eighth."

"Right," Norton said.  "Have a real Merry Christmas, everyone."

"You, too," Harrison said.  "Take care."

"Bye," Suzanne told them, hanging up.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**24 December**

# Portland, Oregon

 

Blackwood returned the receiver to its cradle, then turned back to Sylvia, who was watching him with a touch of concern.

"Something wrong, Harry?" she asked.

"No, not really," he hedged.

"Harry?"

Blackwood smiled at the older woman.  She always could see through his lies and avoidances.  "Debi just asked where the Colonel was spending Christmas."

"And?" Sylvia questioned, pulling on her coat in preparation for going out to dinner.

"I didn't know.  I didn't think to ask…" he explained, looking disgusted with himself.

She paused in front of the astrophysicist.  Reaching out, she rested her hands resting on his arms.  "You don't think he stayed at the safe house, do you?"

Harrison shook his head.  "No," he said, then corrected himself.  "To be honest, I don't think so, but I really don't know.  We all left.  There'd be no reason for him to stay.  He must have family…"

Sylvia shook her head at the frustrated expression that etched deeper into Harrison's face.  "Harry, don't worry.  I'm sure Colonel Ironhorse is fine.  He's probably home with his family, or at the Army base with his friends."

Blackwood refocused on Sylvia and smiled.  "You're probably right," he admitted, realizing that he didn't know if the colonel's relatives were still alive or not.  From the

stories he'd told Debi, he knew Ironhorse's grandfather had died, as well as his older brother, but he didn't know anything about the man's parents, or any other siblings, if there ever were any.  And as for friends, he hadn't heard Ironhorse talk about any Army buddies, but that didn't mean there weren't any.

He shook his head.  "Well, I'm sure the Colonel's perfectly capable of celebrating Christmas without a bunch of civilians around to spoil it for him.  You ready?"

She nodded and Harrison stuck his arm through hers and led her off.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**24 December**

**The Cottage**

 

Ironhorse walked into the empty living room carrying his plate and a cup of coffee.  Mrs. Pennyworth had been careful to leave plenty of food ready and waiting for the microwave – in this case the leftovers of the turkey dinner she'd made for the Cottage residents before flying off to spend the holidays with her sister-in-law in London.  Even after three days the food was excellent, and the soldier ate slowly, enjoying it.

In the fireplace the flames chased back and forth across the top of a slightly green log, sputtering out smoke that was quickly sucked up the flue.  Outside a soft drizzle fell, an occasional breeze rattling the French doors.

He checked his watch.  It was nearly nine o'clock.  He'd spent the day getting caught up on all his outstanding paperwork, breaking for a long run, then spending several hours working out in the gym.  He even allowed himself some time on the small indoor shooting range.  In the afternoon he took the large bay gelding for a brisk run across the property, making sure all the security systems were in perfect working order and giving the animal a chance to stretch his legs.  Returning to the stables, he groomed the Arabian-mix down, then returned to the Cottage for a hot shower, a cup of coffee, and several hours of reading.  In the late afternoon he called his mother and sister, catching up with their lives and the lives of the people in the small Cherokee community he knew so well.

After his usual evening security check, Ironhorse returned to the living room, turned on the television, and half-listened to the generally silly Christmas specials that were on while he worked his way through a report he was preparing for General Wilson.  When his stomach finally growled a reminder that he hadn't eaten dinner yet, the colonel proceeded into the kitchen to heat up the meal and return to the sofa.

He glanced at the clock on the wall.  While it was only a little after nine in California and Oregon, it would be midnight in Washington, DC.  He smiled, wondering if Debi was an early riser on Christmas Day and deciding that she must be, given the girl's limitless energy.  In five hours the twelve-year-old would be attacking a pile of presents that had been sent ahead to General Wilson's Arlington home, compliments of the Cottage residents.  He smiled at the thought of the wrapping paper flying and the girl's excited expression.

Finishing the last of the cornbread stuffing, Ironhorse downed the remainder of his coffee, then carried the dishes back into the kitchen, where he washed them off and placed them in the rack to dry until morning. 

After checking the house one last time, he went to bed.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**25 December 1988**

**The Cottage**

 

Christmas morning dawned cold and gray for the colonel.  Stretching, he allowed himself to lie in bed a full ten minutes with the radio alarm going off.  When he couldn't stand the strain of relaxing any longer, he rolled out, dressed, made the bed, and headed out for his morning run.  A light mist accompanied him the majority of the way, leaving him damp and chilled by the time he got back to the Cottage.  Heading straight for a hot shower, he debated pancakes or oatmeal for breakfast, deciding on the latter.

Dressed in jeans, his West Point sweatshirt, and comfortable moccasins, Ironhorse prepared his breakfast, eating while he watched _A Miracle on 34th Street_.  After cleaning up the kitchen and the dishes, he headed to his office, gathering up the stack of cards and the single gift that had arrived or had been left for him and carried them back to the living room, leaving them by the fireplace.

Then, returning to the kitchen, he filled his coffee cup and carried it back with him.  He sat on the floor in front of the snapping flames.

The first card was from his family and he smiled warmly as he read the long and short messages that had been enclosed.  The second, Mrs. Pennyworth's, was as sweet as the older woman herself and included the promise of goodies to come from London.  Mr. Kensington's was third, and it was a standard Merry Christmas sentiment, but the penned, "Duty, Honor, Country," brought a smile to the colonel's face.  Norton's card, number five, could only be described as "naughty," but it elicited a chuckle nonetheless.  Sixth was Suzanne's, Garfield in full Santa suit – "Big Fat Harry Ho" the cat proclaimed.  Ironhorse chuckled and shook his head.

Harrison's, number eight, was, surprisingly, a more spiritual greeting.  The next five cards were all from old friends and each included welcomed letters that he planned to answer before the Project members returned.  The last was from Debi.  The girl had found a display of Leanin' Tree cards, and she'd picked one with a Cherokee prayer on the inside. Ironhorse smiled.  Sometimes the teen was more Indian than many Native Americans he knew.

Picking up the small box, Ironhorse shook it, detecting a slight rattle.  What had Debi found for him?  There was no doubt in his mind that the gift was from the young blonde.  Carefully opening the haphazard wrapping, he found a small white box with the logo from the Native American Arts and Crafts store in the mall where they'd done the majority of their Christmas shopping for Debi – the adults at the Project having decided not to exchange gifts.

With a grin, he opened the lid, finding a small but beautifully detailed key-ring holder with a Hopi Kiva design.  On the inside of the box lid Debi had scrawled, "Didn't know what to get you.  Hope you like this."

"Absolutely," he said aloud, fishing his keys out and attaching them to the ring.  Standing, he returned the keys to his pocket, then carried the cards back to his office and set them up on his desk and shelves to be enjoyed until the civilians came back.

Returning to the living room, he sat down in front of the fireplace again and sipped on his coffee, noticing that the film had ended and _It's a Wonderful Life_ had taken its place.

His thoughts wandered through several past Christmases, both good and bad.  It was unusual for him to be alone for the holidays and Ironhorse was a little surprised when he realized that he wasn't lonely.  There were regrets, like the loss of Delta Squad, but he was doing all he could to defeat the beings responsible for their deaths, and he wouldn't make that mistake again.

And there was plenty to keep him busy now.  The civilians at the Cottage were his responsibility, and, with a little luck, they'd be able to come up with something to defeat the invaders.  Until then, he would keep them safe, or die trying.

He wondered briefly if his charges were enjoying their respite from the covert war.  Harrison and Sylvia would probably be opening their presents and eating breakfast at Whitewood by now, Norton and his family would be hip deep in kids and new toys, and Debi would be just coming down off the excitement high the unwrapping activities would have generated, while Suzanne would be looking forward to a quiet afternoon while Debi amused herself with her new acquisitions.

And what about him?

Ironhorse poked at the consumed logs, collapsing them into chunks of charcoal and added fresh wood.  He was still on duty, still at war, but they were holding their own.  And, if he could get General Wilson to help him push his report through the Joint Chiefs, they might be able to get ahead, but he was going to need some full-time soldiers in order to do that.

He watched the flames dance up.  It was the same old thing.  At least the civilians were able to get away for a while.  It would help them focus when they returned.  Mr. Kensington would be back tomorrow, the civilians on the twenty-eighth, and Mrs. Pennyworth on the thirtieth, then life would return to their current definitions of normal.

He smiled.  _Normal…?_   With a shake of his head, he returned to his office and sank down into his chair, reaching for the unfinished report.

The jingle of the phone stalled his return to work and he tossed the folder aside and pushed to his feet as he answered.  "Hello?"

"Merry Christmas, Colonel!"

Ironhorse smiled.  "Merry Christmas, Debi."

The girl's voice, pitched just above a whisper, told him she hadn't gotten her mother's permission to place the call.  "I just wanted to tell you that."

"Well, I appreciate it.  I hope you're enjoying yourself."

"I'd like it better if we'd all stayed at the Cottage.  I miss everybody."

He grinned.  Only a child.  "Maybe next year," he told her, wondering if they would still be together then, and not sure exactly how he felt about either possibility.

"I loved the books and the blanket, Colonel."

"And I liked the keychain, very much."

"I guess I'd better go, this is sort of need to know, okay?"

The grin grew into a full-fledged smile.  "I understand, Deb.  I'll see you in a couple of days."

"Okay.  Bye."

The line went dead and Ironhorse shook his head.  Why had she called?  And how had she known he was there?

He shook his head.  There was no use trying to figure out kids.  They were a different species.  He tapped at the keys in his pocket, the added weight of Debi's Christmas gift giving him a warm feeling.

Hanging up, he glanced again at the cards lined up on his desk and shelves and smiled.  _Civilians…_


End file.
